


Another Cup

by TheyCallMeCal



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, M/M, SebaCiel - Freeform, Sebastian x Ciel - Freeform, Yaoi, ciel x sebastian, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-26 23:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7594684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyCallMeCal/pseuds/TheyCallMeCal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When someone tells you they have a secret, i bet it's just more lies." Ciel pranced through life with all the privilege he could have dreamt of; a high paying job, easy work, and the freedom he desires. All until he spills his secret, leaving him struggling to gasp for more air that floats on the surface. The only good coming clean did was forcing him to the Oolong Tea House with Sebastian Michaelis as his waiter. There's just one thing standing in both of their ways; the vital information kept from the barista.</p><p>Another Cup is a Sebaciel (Sebastian x Ciel) fanfiction filled with truths, lies, and most of all, secrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Cup

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic on AO3 so this is pretty exciting (:  
> (Feel free to point out any spelling or grammatical errors!)  
> Thank you!! -Cal

  Instead of drying my tears, _'The Whale'_ by Mark Beauregard fills me with regret. Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why am I so idiotic? Why am I so blind? I should have known! I should have kept my mouth shut, alike the characters that somehow thrive within these pages.

    My teary eyes fail to read the words that fill the paper, causing me to throw the overpriced book across the room, knocking over a glass on the coffee table. An inhuman noise escapes my lungs in distress; I can never talk to him again.

    12, 1, 2, 3am.... And at 9 I'm working for the same man that shunned me from his life.

 

* * *

 

    Classical music, people talking, and the smell of the assortment of tea fills my senses. Surprisingly, I rolled out of bed and ran out of my apartment just in time to make it here at 9:00am on the dot... even though I don't plan to meet anyone.

    "What could I get for you, sir?" The blonde lady beams at my tired, gloomy figure.

    "Uh, earl grey would be good." I don't even bother to look up at the menu. It's packed with teas that I had never had, let alone heard of.

    "Would that be cream, decaf, or regular earl grey?" I stop in the middle of the attempt of tugging my wallet out of my jeans.

    "Uhm, regular's fine." I frown to myself. Although it's going fine so far, his place feels a bit too fancy... especially because I was charged $4.89 for a fucking tea. Vincent picked the wrong place for me to persuade.

    I get to a small square table, flip up my laptop lid, and open my email. _'63 unread messages'_ Floats at the top of my work inbox. Shit. The last thing i want to do is read all these stupid-ass messages (90% sure most of them are e-vites to shitty picnics that already passed.)

    As a scroll through my emails, I find there's an absence of messages from my father, the CEO of Funtom co., my boss, and the very human who's now avoiding me at all costs. I'm at Oolong tea house today to work for him. I've been jumping from independent coffee shop to independent coffee shop for him. He's been telling me the time, place and details; but this time, he fails to send an email encompassing the very facts, in which I can't begin work without. Thanks, father.

    I try not to scream as my hands shoot up towards my face. "shit." I mumble as my body tenses up and shrinks from an embarrassing memory that somehow floated into my mind. My trembling hands, the shitty wording, that fucking letter causes me so much damn pain. I shake my head in an attempt to get rid of my stale memories and continue to stare at my, now empty, inbox.

    I sigh, take my book out of my bag, and waste my time getting lost in the story.

    Well. At least I try to.

_'...But the old three-cornered hat,_

_And the breeches, and all that,_

_Are so queer!'_

    The poem stands apart from the rest of the story. And that single word stands apart of the poem like a sore thumb.

_'...Queer!'_

    Ha, it would have been much easier to tape a simple word to my forehead instead of humiliating the shit out of myself.

 

* * *

 

    "Excuse me, sir." my eyes flutter open to a young red-haired boy who nudges me on the shoulder. "We're closing." His face remains placid enough for me to realize that he could give less shits for his job.

    "Oh, sorry." My eyes shoot open and my head darts up; my face hot and painted bright red. I look down to the table. My book is propped open as well as my laptop, which turned itself off. I stuff them into my messenger bag in a hurry; an attempt to make it out of this coffee shop without dying of embarrassment.

    The brown, wooden chairs are flipped and stacked on the tables after a not-so-thorough wipe with a beat-up cloth and a bright blue liquid that resembles Windex... for all I know it could be Gatorade. Just as my bag swings around my shoulder, the chair opposite from the one I was previously sitting on is turned and stacked by a tall man with longish black hair and a neutral expression plastered on his face. Right as my sapphire eyes meet his blood red ones, he flashes a grin then turns to the table behind him.

    As I leave, the air in the room is still dead and silent, with the frequent spray of "Windex" or the chairs dragging on the hardwood floor.

 

* * *

 

    Wet hair, a shitty microwave meal, and a bottle of red wine... but usually it's just a glass.

    I pace around the small couch that casually sits inside my prestigious apartment, taking slight glances outside the ceiling-to-floor windows that gives me a view of buildings that tower over the streets, cars, and people.

    _"I don't care how you do the job,"_

    I continue to pace, and pace, and pace; until my head drowns in thoughts of the call I had just received.  
  
_"just as long as you get it done."_

I had always heard people telling others to come out as if it wasn't a big deal, although it is. Some people are blind to the fact that they're putting a lock on the door that leads out to happiness and freedom, because of the closed minded people that those individuals "trust".

    _"I shouldn't be anyone more than the person who pays you."_

I take another gulp of red wine. The bottle gets lighter and lighter, just as the sky gets darker and darker. It could have just been three words, 'I am gay.' but even then, he would have acted the same; so why did I waste my time?

    _"Goodbye."_

    And why should I still have to? 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler characters belong to Yana Toboso, Yen Press, FUNimation etc.  
> The plotline and story belong to myself.


End file.
